


Protect the Punisher, Serve the Enslaved

by Amethyst97Skye



Series: Transformers: A Different Dimension [2]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Intimidation, Kidnapping, Minor Violence, POV Third Person Omniscient, Suspense, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 23:06:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10774377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethyst97Skye/pseuds/Amethyst97Skye
Summary: He made a vow once, to punish and enslave. He may yet live to make another, to protect and serve that which he was Spark-set on destroying. War is inevitable, but which side of the Barricade will he stand on?Inspired by "A Universal Concept", written by "aprilraven".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aprilraven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprilraven/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Universal Concept](https://archiveofourown.org/works/182314) by [aprilraven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprilraven/pseuds/aprilraven). 



**Time Measurements:**  
Joor - 1 Earth hour.  
Klik - 1 Earth minute

* * *

You could not tell that the vehicle was once a police car. The wheels were sagging, the hood was ridged with dents, leaving the engine partially exposed, and the doors had buckled inwards under immense strain. They were covered in mud, the paint had long since peeled, and the interior was covered in dust, grime and rust. The left headlight and right brake light were broken, both side mirrors were cracked, and the armoured grill was missing entirely.

It could not have travelled at any pace other than “slow” as it backed into the old abandoned barn inch by agonising inch, several tools autographing the doors. Its engine coughed, spluttered and retched before the entire car was wracked with violent spasms; as if someone was repeatedly starting and stalling the engine.

There was no one inside.

When it finally ground to a halt and the engine’s angry hissing died down, the tell-tale _drip, drip, drip_ of leaking fuel could be heard. For a moment, it stopped… then it started up again, dripping faster, before stopping completely. The exhaust heaved a cloud of black soot free in mockery of a sigh.

The foul-tasting fuel sloshed and sat like slag at the bottom of the gas tank. After the authorities caught on to the string of service station robberies, there was nothing else to do but siphon the fuel from their inanimate machines directly. The car was running on dregs, smoke and steam, a feat it would not be able to endure for much longer.

There were means of purifying the fuel, but they were not presently accessible, so the automaton tried to ignore the acutely acidic burning sensation that spread out like Blackarachnia’s sticky, indestructible organic webs. There was, however, no chance of the car relieving itself from its self-imposed torture. Without fuel, it could not run. If it could not run, it could not hide. If it could not hide, it would never… survive.

It tried to rein in its temper, so as not to burn off the fuel prematurely. Without it, the car was simply that: a car. A broken, run-down, useless car. From once sitting at the top of the Cybernetic chain, it was now nothing more than a slag-shoveler, reduced to petty thievery, forced to consume garbage to make up that extra mile. It was replenishing its stores for another journey. The authorities would close in soon and, even if they suspected nothing, they would scrap the vehicle for spare parts and extinguish its Spark.

It longed for the open road, for fresh air, for  _real_ fuel. It was desperate to change, to transform, to prove that it was worthy of its designation, but the truth of the matter sat deep within. Alone, unarmed and unarmoured, there was no hope of ever achieving the dream of wreaking havoc on its enemies. It would never taste the sweet Energon of revenge ever again.

A heavy, hard gurgle of gas was followed by an equally cumbersome sigh. Having finally processed the fuel, it was ready for consumption. A quick peek at the tank gauge revealed there were fourteen miles left on the proverbial clock. After a day of “chasing their tails”, the authorities would disperse. It was just a matter of remembering to wake up.

* * *

It would have been risky but, in the long mile, it would have been easier on the engine. Still, it waited, a ghost among shadows as the night drew ever nearer. The nearby town was small and received little in the way of automobiles, but the roads had never been completely deserted. If this trip proved wasteful, there would be no option of returning to the barn, not unless it wanted to rot there.

The broken wing mirrors swivelled to capture the last few rays of light. No, the sensors were not malfunctioning, there was a human walking down the street. It had taken time to perfect the routine, and it was extensively more successful with the smaller, weaker humans that carried their Hatchlings in their chassis. By chance, there was one about to pass on the opposite side of the road.

In the blink of an eye the hazards started flashing, the passenger-side door opened, and the hood rose of its own accord. As the human passed, the horn blared once, twice, three times. The witless creature waved and walked across the road without a care in the world.

“Hey, you alright there? What hap – _agh_!”

It was the seatbelt that struck out, grabbing a thin forearm and dragging the organic inside. They were disgusting things – always complaining, never satisfied – but they had their uses, and they were ridiculously easy to intimidate. The hood dropped with a loud _clap_ , the hazards turned themselves off, and the passenger-side door swung shut. The seatbelt fastened itself, strapping the fleshling against the crust-covered seat.

It screamed and shouted for help. To silence its shrieking, the seatbelt pinned the creature tight against its tiny torso, threatening to cut off its air supply. It tried to open the windows, but the controls would not respond. It tried to open the door, but its sweat-slick fingers could not grip the lock. It tried to reach for the horn, fingers desperately scratching against the edge of the steering wheel. It tried. It failed. Liquid leaked from its optics, turning the white viscous fluid behind their primitive sensors red.

“If you have quite finished.”

The human froze, eyes darting left and right, its body trembling uncontrollably. “Wh-Who – Where –”

“I am watching you from afar. Listen carefully. If you follow my instructions, I will let you go. If you disobey me, I will kill you.”

“Wait! No! Please! I don’t wanna die!”

“Then _listen_.” The weakling shivered and, unable to back away, it tried to curl in on itself. “I control this vehicle. You will do what I when I say it, or you - will - die. Do you understand?”

“Yes!”

“Yes…?”

“Er, yes… sir?”

‘Master’ would have been preferential, but it was a youngling and, thus, could not be expected to possess higher processor functions.

“Good.” The creature relaxed. Marginally. “I will drive you to a gas station. When you get out, leave the door ajar. You will refuel this car. Fill it until it cannot consume any more. Once completed, close the door and enter the store. You will be free and I will leave. Do you understand?”

It nodded vigorously. “Yes! Yes, I understand. Sir!”

Without a response, the car kicked itself into gear and drove off. It never returned to that lonely, little town.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Time Measurements:**  
Joor - 1 Earth hour.  
Klik - 1 Earth minute

* * *

When the organic shut the door, it blasted open, slamming them into the gas pump head first, painting the dull white metal bright red. They did not get up and the car drove off. There was no need to leave loose ends, and there was no need for a slave, not now it had enough fuel to last fifty Earth days. Such measures were only used as a last resort, and the car switched routes innumerable times before fleeing west. It was a necessary precaution.

Despite the short time spent in the vehicle, the car felt cold without the human to radiate its natural heat. It was pointless to permit the heaters to consume fuel, or the corrupted garbage that was, for some unknown reason, considered safe for consumption. Time had been bought, but acquiring fuel only treated the symptoms of the car’s condition. Without Energon, it would, eventually, inevitably, go offline.

Without access to _real_ fuel, there was no course except to continue the endless cycle of its miserable existence. It considered contacting its remote allies many times, but even if they were willing to lend a servo, they would demand payment, and even if it possessed some form of currency or something that could be exchanged for profit, they could just as easily declare it a “hopeless case” and salvage what little they could.

The drive put excess strain on the engine, which threatened to overheat, forcing the car to pull off the road in search of a place to hide. There was a small lake nearby, and an uninhabited shack it slid under to shelter itself from the elements. Even when the sun was high in the organic blue sky, it still felt cold, its circuits struggling to fight for functionality.

Keeping the fleshling would have added numerous complications to the situation, but there was a real fear of the horrendous fuel freezing. Turning the heaters on for a single Lunar Cycle would not cause grievous damage, and the organic’s cycle was far shorter than that of Cybertron. The tank was nearly three-quarters full so, yes, it would indulge.

Just this once.

* * *

A familiar warmth slid into the back seat and lay across the cushions. While irked and annoyed, the car paid no mind to the intrusion. The heaters were malfunctioning, blowing out cold gusts or recycling the stale air inside. As such, the fleshling’s presence was welcomed. Its tank was heavy with fuel and it was beginning to clog. Come the next Solar Cycle it would expel the organic and drive off to find a settlement. A few more joors in stasis would not hurt.

* * *

Stabs of something strangely soft woke it from a deep slumber. It should have been grateful, but the creature prodded, pressed, and pushed every available button with increasing, unwarranted force.

“No energy. Great.”

It was another weaker human, another youngling. The creature heaved the back door open and the car took a klik to grieve at the loss of heat before attempting to start its engine. With an aggressively sputtering growl, the car jerked, the exhausted ejected a thick cloud of black fume, and the engine backfired. Hissing, with steam scrambling through the ridges in the bonnet, the car sank down on its wheel, forcing one to pop, prompting the horn to blare in outrage.

This… was the end. It could not drive, it could not move, it could not even vent adequately.

Somewhere off to the side, the organic was coughing. Pale hands battered away the smoke to revealed a dirty, blood-stained, sooty face. It looked to be in some considerable pain, and the car took a considerable amount of satisfaction that they were not the only one suffering.

The soft, steady _clap, clap, clap_ of the human’s flimsy armour was uncomfortably soothing. It paced around, running its tiny servos over dents, scratches and patches of paint, rust, and age-caked mud. When it completed its circuit, a pair of impossibly bright blue optics gazed over, and into, the car.

“Shush, shush,” they reassured, smoothing a servo over the bonnet when it shuddered.

Which was it? Autobot… or Decepticon? As it stood, the odds were that both would attack if it revealed its old designation, though the Autobots might have it in their soft Sparks to spare it, perhaps even offer aid. They were equally likely to end its misery, especially if they were not in a position to offer said aid. Sluggish as its processor was, it could conjure no designation that would willingly help a decrepit Decepticon.

“I know, I know, I know it hurts.”

It would have argued that its condition was not simply painful but endless, agonising torture, but it did not feel much of anything at present, savour the heat that radiated through the tiny creature’s servo, an inhuman heat that rivalled that of the –

A loud crash snapped its attention back to the organic-disguised Cybertronian. It was searching through the shack for something, something small, and gave an exclamation indicating success when it found a fragile glass cylinder with a long, silver spike. From the back of the shack, it heaved a large red cylindrical tank onto a rotting wooden table and hooked a dusty cable to what was revealed to be a gas burner.

The strange Cybertronian held the silver spike over a near indistinguishable blue flame, and it flashed a myriad of colours before returning to a plain, deep, almost undetectable blue. Once the burner was returned to stasis, the creature – its scanners were picking up a strong organic signature – removed something from a small storage device secured to its back, a flask holding a colourless, odourless liquid that was used to rinse the glass cylinder.

Careful, so as not to drop the cylinder, the creature – for it was not human, not entirely – removed it's torn armour to reveal discoloured flesh. There were black, green and yellow voids, but most of its fragile protoform had been painted a pale blue. Its circuitry was oddly pronounced. Curiously, the fleshling inserted the spike into its form, over its Spark, and steadily withdrew a luminous yellow-white liquid.

Once the cylinder was full, the organic released a single drop onto one of its thin digits and spread it over a deep gouge on the car door, created by one of its race’s tools used to farm their native produce. The entire car shook, drinking in every molecule. Its scanners blared warnings but they were ignored, for the circuitry severed by the tool were reconfigured, the wires reconnected and the internal structure restored to near perfect health, erasing the wound and leaving only the faintest of scars.

It felt good. Too good. It felt powerful. Too powerful. It tasted _like_ Energon, but it was so much _more_ , unquestionably pure and impossibly perfect to the sensors.

“I’ll need access to your organs to bring you back online.”

There was no choice, no question of refusing. The burst of energy had healed nothing but cosmetic damage. Without more, the car would go offline, and it was holding out a Cube of the highest grade of Energon that it would ever have the luxury of processing. Until its scanners received more power – currently, they were inactive to conserve it – there would be no way of telling if the Cybertronian had sacrificed fuel from its personal fuel cells, storage, or if it, being largely organic, produced Pure Energon as every Cybertronian produced slag. Regardless, so long as the creature proved useful, there was logic in keeping it alive.

The driver’s side door opened and the being slipped inside. Several times it had to heave parts aside when the car’s strength waned, its optics swivelling to watch the cylinder where it was resting atop the dashboard. When the integral internal combustion chamber was revealed, the organic inserted and emptied the cylinder. The effect was instantaneous.

Life _hummed_ from every circuit, the engine roared with energy, and its wheels burnt rubber into hard concrete beneath as it sped off. All at once, it was too much. The organic screamed, terrified, ecstatic, overwhelmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Presently, this is just a stand-alone and takes place during "Revenge of the Fallen". If I do continue this, it will be after I complete "Transformers: Robots in Disguise".


End file.
